X marks the spot (at 4am)

This is a fascinating thread.  I'm just wondering if any of you have read Steve Silberman's Neurotribes.  Silberman was, of course, the journalist whose research led to the findings about Hans Asperger's controversial past.

Aside from that, though, the first chapter of the book - The Wizard of Clapham Common - is about the 18th century scientist Henry Cavendish (or 'natural philosopher' as he would have been known at the time, when investigations into the workings of 'God's Creation' would have been regarded as more of an enlightened hobby).  As Silberman says, Cavendish 'defined the scope, conduct and ambition of the scientific method for centuries to come.'

He would also, at the time, have been regarded as deeply eccentric.  He had secret stairways and passages installed in his mansion so that he didn't have to meet with his servants in his perambulations around the house.  Rather than speak to his servants, he communicated with them via notes left on the hall table.  It was noted that he refused to look at anyone with whom he was conversing, and he was much more of a listener and observer than an active conversationalist.  Sounds familiar to me!

Here, though, is the first paragraph from the chapter - and a good introduction to our Henry...

Every evening in the last years of the eighteenth century, at precisely the same hour, a solitary figure stepped forth from the most unusual house on Clapham Common to take his nightly constitutional.  To avoid the prying eyes of his neighbours, he stuck to the middle of the road, never hailing those who recognised him or touching his hat to acknowledge passersby.  Dressed in fussy clothes that had last been in fashion decades earlier, he walked with a distinctive slouching gait, his left hand behind his back.  His route, like his departure time, never varied.  He would proceed down Dragmire Lane to Nightingale Lane and walk for another mile, past quiet town houses and rows of oak and hawthorn trees, until he arrived at Wandsworth Common.  Then he would walk back the way he came.  He had made only one revision to his itinerary in a quarter of a century, after attracting the attention of two women who planted themselves at a corner where they were likely to catch sight of him.  Spotting them from some distance away, he abruptly launched himself in the perpendicular direction, making an undignified but effective escape through the muck of a freshly-ploughed field.  After that, he scheduled his walks after dusk, when he was least likely to be seen.

A fascinating character, and one I immediately warmed to when I read this.  I usually go out for my walks during the daytime (and I always take the same routes through quieter streets), but I much prefer to do so at night.  It's just that, around here, the night streets aren't always so safe.

This is a fascinating thread.  I'm just wondering if any of you have read Steve Silberman's Neurotribes.  Silberman was, of course, the journalist whose research led to the findings about Hans Asperger's controversial past.

Aside from that, though, the first chapter of the book - The Wizard of Clapham Common - is about the 18th century scientist Henry Cavendish (or 'natural philosopher' as he would have been known at the time, when investigations into the workings of 'God's Creation' would have been regarded as more of an enlightened hobby).  As Silberman says, Cavendish 'defined the scope, conduct and ambition of the scientific method for centuries to come.'

He would also, at the time, have been regarded as deeply eccentric.  He had secret stairways and passages installed in his mansion so that he didn't have to meet with his servants in his perambulations around the house.  Rather than speak to his servants, he communicated with them via notes left on the hall table.  It was noted that he refused to look at anyone with whom he was conversing, and he was much more of a listener and observer than an active conversationalist.  Sounds familiar to me!

Here, though, is the first paragraph from the chapter - and a good introduction to our Henry...

Every evening in the last years of the eighteenth century, at precisely the same hour, a solitary figure stepped forth from the most unusual house on Clapham Common to take his nightly constitutional.  To avoid the prying eyes of his neighbours, he stuck to the middle of the road, never hailing those who recognised him or touching his hat to acknowledge passersby.  Dressed in fussy clothes that had last been in fashion decades earlier, he walked with a distinctive slouching gait, his left hand behind his back.  His route, like his departure time, never varied.  He would proceed down Dragmire Lane to Nightingale Lane and walk for another mile, past quiet town houses and rows of oak and hawthorn trees, until he arrived at Wandsworth Common.  Then he would walk back the way he came.  He had made only one revision to his itinerary in a quarter of a century, after attracting the attention of two women who planted themselves at a corner where they were likely to catch sight of him.  Spotting them from some distance away, he abruptly launched himself in the perpendicular direction, making an undignified but effective escape through the muck of a freshly-ploughed field.  After that, he scheduled his walks after dusk, when he was least likely to be seen.

A fascinating character, and one I immediately warmed to when I read this.  I usually go out for my walks during the daytime (and I always take the same routes through quieter streets), but I much prefer to do so at night.  It's just that, around here, the night streets aren't always so safe.

Martian Tom said:

He had secret stairways and passages installed in his mansion so that he didn't have to meet with his servants in his perambulations around the house.

Oh yes, I can understand that one. If I'm feeling a bit burned out, I can end up not seeing my landlady for weeks at a time - she lives in the room below me, and we share a kitchen!

Back when I was a student, sharing rented houses, I'd always have something in my room to use as an emergency bed-pan. I sometimes just couldn't handle even just a brief accidental meeting on the stairs on the way for a pee, especially if I knew that any of my house-mates had guests in the house. None of these are people that I disliked, or found any harder to get on with than anyone else; but when I'm not feeling communicative, I just can't stand any interaction at all.

Robert124 said:

She has gone for a nightwalk  in her bare feet and now they were cut with bruises and blood.

I have done similar once or twice, though not really by choice. When I have a melt-down, I will usually try to flee if I can, and can get several miles before coming to my senses, usually with no idea where I am or how I got there. My legs just keep going until my instincts find what they want, which is usually a quiet green space of some kind. I've had this happen a couple of times when I've had no shoes on when I've melted down. I've never seriously injured myself or got into trouble during a melt-down flight, which rather amazes me, and thankfully, it's not happened for a very long time. I manage my sensitivities better to avoid overloading than I used to, and I more often shut-down rather than melt-down if pushed too far; to a certain extent, if I feel a shut-down is imminent, I can force it to be a shut-down instead if I can sit or lie down and concentrate really hard.